Kiba: Voice of the Fang
by northstar333
Summary: This little collection of stories revolves around the swords of Inuyasha. Ever wonder what the swords would say if they could talk? You might just be surprised...
1. Voice of Tessaiga: Common Goals

Disclaimer: The characters of InuYasha are not mine, they are property of Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Yomiuri TV, Sunrise, and Viz. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warning: Some spoilers.

Voice of Tessaiga: Common Goals

After so many years of lassitude, he awoke to the touch of the half blood prince. Like the fumbling fingers of a pubescent lad exploring himself for the first time, the hanyou coaxed him to his full size. The first blood he tasted in over fifty years was that of the other son, the full blooded youkai lord, and that sweet elixir soaked into his essence like honey.

He became hungry for more.

The balance between himself and the hanyou's potent blood surged to life, and he fed greedily, binding the legacy of the father's blood to himself so that the hanyou was safe from its own biology. Just like the father intended.

At first, the rough handling and blatant misuse were enough to send him into long fits of despair. He wished fervently for the time when he had rested upon a different hip next to his two companions, the little one, Tensaiga, and the dark one, So'unga. He suffered in silence, crying in voiceless misery as Totousai repaired him and left him in the hanyou's dubious care.

Until the hanyou protected him from its brother's onslaught; until the half blood wielded his power properly for the first time; until the little hanyou offered up one of his own fangs to repair him when he broke. _Then_ he gave the hanyou the grudging respect and loyalty it had _earned._

And in the end, the hanyou's goals became his goals…because he fell in love.

It started innocently enough as mere curiosity. There were only so many hours in the day that his services were called upon to do battle; the rest were spent in the dark quiet cage of his sheath. His awareness became a string of memories, of encounters where the little pink shards played such a vital role. Over time, he was able to figure out that the shards were the rightful possession of the miko the hanyou seemed to favor. Over time, he was able to make the logical connections that the one the hanyou had vowed to protect was the miko, and that that protection centered on those little pink shards of something called the Shikon no Tama.

He would "awake" to do battle; and his first thoughts would be of the pink shards, seeking after them as the miko with her extraordinary sense pointed them out. Always, he would be sent into the flesh, digging deep for those hidden treasures of electric power. As the quest dragged on, and still that remained his main purpose, he came to think of those pink shards as _his._ Rightfully won by _his_ blade, those shards served as the tangible evidence of _his_ prowess.

He was _devastated_ when the hanyou and the miko lost them to the spider. In the darkness of his sheath, he single mindedly _hungered_ for the blood of the one who had taken what was _his._

He dueled and danced with the tainted blade Toukijin that stank of the one they called Naraku, who'd taken his treasure. He obligingly bit into the flesh of the brother when the hanyou asked it of him, knowing all the while that Tensaiga would snatch away _her_ master away before the final kill. He had no quarrel with the brother and fervently wished the hanyou didn't either.

_Naraku._ He wanted the _spider._

But, more than anything, he came to realize that he wanted the _jewel._

_Beloved._

Feminine. Delicate. Pure with a power that bit and snarled if he came too close.

_Beautiful._

Unlike any demon blade he'd danced with; unlike any worthy opponent he'd wanted to defeat; the little shards with their pulsing, electric, feminine aura captivated him. He watched with eager, possessive longing as the sharp, jagged shards were smoothed into a firm, round glass ball. One by one, he watched her take shape and took dark delight in the fact that _he_ was making her whole.

He memorized the curve of her sphere, the way she sparkled in the sunlight, the way she glowed softly like a firefly calling its mate at night. And then in his sheath, he dreamed of wrapping her in his youki, of pouring that fiery warmth into her until she accepted the thrust of his power. He dreamed of overwhelming her, of making her _his_ by force; and then of cradling her gently, of stroking her sweetly and absorbing the wisps of her aura as they leaked out in distressed surrender.

They would become one, and she would make him _strong._ _He_ would be her protector, _she_ his treasured heart.

He would never forgive Naraku for taking her from him.

He thirsted for the spider's blood even as the hanyou hungered for the spider's death. As bonded comrades at arms, they both instinctively recognized the common goal they shared. As one, they longed for the day when they would grasp that final triumph over the threat to what was theirs.

Together they would _win—_but the choice was not _his_ but the hanyou's. Until the spider could be found, nothing could be resolved. And even then, until the hanyou drew him, he was helpless to save his love.

And so the sword Tessaiga dreamed; waiting to be called to war.


	2. Voice of Tensaiga: Second Hand Legacy

Disclaimer: The characters of InuYasha are not mine, they are property of Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Yomiuri TV, Sunrise, and Viz. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warning: Spoilers for some of the most recent manga chapters.

# Voice of Tensaiga: Second Hand Legacy #

It hurts.

To be unwanted; to be given to one who treats me as a mere piece of trash metal. Why not give me to the son whose mother I could have restored to him? Why not give me to the mortals, with their pitiful, fragile lives? _They_ would treasure me, fight for me, die for me, live again for me. Among _their_ kind I might be able to find the pure heart that can wield my true power.

There is a certain rigid purity to a frozen heart.

_Sesshoumaru_

My bane and blessing.

He is so like his father, and yet, in all the ways that matter, he is so like his mother. Cold. Proud. Beautiful. Complacent in his power and stagnant in his emotions. Strong in his enduring lifespan and yet delicate because of it. His father's greatest fear is that his firstborn son will succumb to a youkai's greatest danger.

_Change._

I am an embodiment of that purpose; not to make his son _weak_ but to make his son _flexible_ so that come what may, he will not only survive, but thrive as well.

'_Masterpiece among masterpieces_' Toutousai whispered to me as he forged me into a blade. How pretty were his lies, his affections. He _gave me away!_ To a master who saw me as nothing more than an extension of his blessed darling Tetsusaiga; who arrogantly assumed I was _his_ by right simply because I was once his plucked fang.

_Fools._

What good is a sword that doesn't cut? Doesn't kill?! Better to have been a piece of gaudy jewelry, a stout piece of armor, than a _blade._ But how pretty a matched set we make, Tetsusaiga and I. One blade to take a thousand lives in one swing, and one blade to give a thousand lives in one swing. After all; So'unga is a sword _nobody_ wants to see drawn, even as a last resort. Had I been _So'unga's_ detachment rather than _Tetsusaiga's; then_ my lord Sesshoumaru would treasure me, despite the subtle corruption of that dark power.

It was inevitable, from the moment his father left me to Sesshoumaru, that I would long to please _this_ master. His worthiness to be my master never once factored in—only the weight of his hand on my hilt, the merging of his youki with mine, his willingness to draw me into the sunlight—even once.

_His_ frustration is as keen as _mine._

_I_ know the secrets the wily old raccoon Toutousai hid within me. Had I voice of my own, I would whisper them all into Sesshoumaru's ear. Would tell him all and not leave it to the unfeeling, smug _arrogance_ of his father's old, senile retainers to tell him piece by mortifying piece until they _break_ what I am trying to _protect._

_Bastards._

Do they think I will go quietly back into the blade Tetsusaiga? Do they think I will quietly surrender my Meidou-Zangetsuha to that thief blade? Maybe, if Tetsusaiga had remained complete without the addition of Inuyasha's fang, I might have had no choice, but there discordance between us now; even if I still must rely on Tetsusaiga to bring me into my full glory. They cannot know; even my crazy-clever creator Toutousai—that _I_ have been changing. I am, after all, a descendent from the ever growing Tetsusaiga. They cannot know, that sliver by tiny sliver, I have tucked little bits of Toukijin's hatred for Inuyasha away inside of my power. They cannot know, that in absorbing me or my Meidou-Zangetsuha, Tetsusaiga signs its own death warrant. It would be my own destruction as well, but in this, I am most content.

Sesshoumaru did not choose me; _I chose him._

To him I might be worthless, a second hand legacy from a father he could never understand. He may never treasure the gift I gave him in the little girl Rin. In battle he may draw other swords besides me.

But I _chose._

I am not Sesshoumaru's. He is _mine. Mine_ to protect. _Mine_ to serve.

I will _never_ submit to that half breed whelp Inuyasha. Better to be destroyed than taken from Sesshoumaru's hand. Better to be a memory than wielded against the one I chose. Better to not exist than to hurt the one I love.

_Sesshoumaru._


	3. Voice of Toukijin: Shared Hatred

Disclaimer: The characters of InuYasha are not mine, they are property of Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Yomiuri TV, Sunrise, and Viz. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warning: Spoilers for part of Naraku detachment arc (Goshinki) and Kaijinbou/Toukijin episodes.

# Toukijin: Shared Hatred #

He was birthed from hatred.

The bitter tears of the hopeless were his first milk. The gnashing of teeth was his first lullaby. His first word was that of loathing. His first need was the thirst for blood.

Even then, he was forged to be a weapon.

Gifted with the extraordinary ability to sense the thoughts of others, he thought himself invincible, undefeatable. He inherited Naraku's hatred of Inuyasha, but only after the hanyou rend his body to shreds did the hatred truly become _his._

In the tainted forge of the evil swordmaker, he became sentient again, finding his new form to be one of a _tool_ that required a _wielder_ of some skill to be useful. Seizing the weak mind of his creator, he sought to complete the task he had been born for; not for Naraku, but for _himself, _for his own revenge.

He failed.

Mere inches from his blade, he watched helplessly as Inuyasha paced and waited for the fearsome one, the one Kaijinbou had called _Sesshoumaru._ How those moments stretched out forever; as he desperately reached out for Inuyasha's susceptible mind only to realize his ability to control thoughts was limited to his wielder.

In the end, he too grew impatient for Sesshoumaru to come claim him.

_Then_ he would kill Inuyasha once and for all. Surely as one who saw the value of having a sword forged from his old body, _this_ wielder would be worthy of being his bearer, his slave.

He never considered that he himself would be the one forced to serve.

When at last Sesshoumaru came—pale, cold, and arrogantly self assured; it was all Toukijin could do not to smirk to himself as those long clawed fingers encircled his hilt. He gathered himself to strike as his jyaki clashed Sesshoumaru's youki…only to have his own power consumed whole by the enormity of the youkai's power.

Like the frigid cold of an artic sea, the icy purity of Sesshoumaru's hatred leeched the heat out of his own paltry, feeble hatred until he succumbed without a struggle. The seed of his own hatred came from Naraku; and Naraku, for all of his devious maliciousness, was still limited by the human heart that beat within his depths. The capacity of a human heart to hate, Toukijin learned, was nothing compared to the capacity of the hatred of a demon heart.

_His_ hatred for Inuyasha was negligible next to _Sesshoumaru's._

Like a dog he sits and waits for his master to throw him scraps. Like a starving child he tastes the blood of his hated enemy Inuyasha only when his master lets him. It is never enough to pacify him, to satisfy him. He always, always hungers for more.

With any other wielder, he would lash out and win freedom at any cost. With any other youkai, he would take the risk of failing, but not with Sesshoumaru. He has tasted of the inu youkai's wrath; has tasted of the inu youkai's conviction.

He need not seek another wielder because he believes in _this_ master.

Like a siren song of a lover's promise, the fathomless, uncompromising strength of Sesshoumaru's grudge comforts him and eases his terrible ache for Inuyasha's blood. It is only a matter of time until Sesshoumaru wields him against Inuyasha. It is only a matter of time until he gets his revenge.

Wrapped within the icy blanket of Sesshoumaru's hate, Toukijin is content to let his master choose the time and place. 


End file.
